You've Got A Friend
by MrsHolmes-Winchester
Summary: Sometimes, you just need someone to show you how good life can be. After an accident at work, Carolyn is forced to employ a temporary stewardess. But Arthur is intent on showing the newbie that life is what you make it. Rated T for reference to mental illness. Fluff but no real shipping involved.
1. An Accident

"Arthur, light of my life and eternal idiot, surely even you can see that you can't work with a broken arm."

"But Mum, I can do it!" The steward whined, his eyes filled with the indescribable sadness that only Arthur could manage. Only he could get upset about something that would ensure time from work.

Douglas sat a distance away, grinning wolfishly. He knew that Carolyn's pique was underlaid with concern and worry for her only child. For all she criticised and rebuffed any attempt at anything other than her usual cool and distant attitude, she cared deeply for her son, and was worried about him. Arthur seemed fine, apart from the broken arm and very mild concussion that the fall had left him with, but she remained unsatisfied.

"Remind me how it happened again, Arthur," he muttered dryly. Carolyn had not been present when it had happened, but the circumstances were such that he couldn't quite help but smile.

"But Douglas, you were behind me."

"I was distracted by Martin's new hat. The sheer size of it is awe inspiring," he shot back quickly, still grinning.

"I told you, I just tripped."

"Because you forgot that you had spilled coffee earlier. On G-ERTI's steps. Well done, Arthur."

################################################## ######

Martin and Hercules waited impatiently at the hangar, the Captain tapping his foot impatiently as they waited for news of Arthur. Hercules had driven straight over to Fitton when he had heard, only to be met with a cold Carolyn, intent on taking her son to hospital, Douglas insisting that all was well.

"Do you think Arthur will be okay?"

"Even if he wasn't, Carolyn would have bullied doctors into fixing him straight away. So yes, I think he's fine." Herc sensed the other pilot's anxiety, and sighed slightly. Arthur was forever getting himself injured, but never this badly. The incident with the dragon-fruit had been dangerous, but over as soon as it had started. This seemed to linger, like a bad odour.

"What will we do?"

"Well," he began, stretching his legs out from the sofa, eyeing the kettle longingly, "I think that we should make ourselves some coffee before we think about anything else."

Martin filed the flight plan from the trip they had returned from, and smiled softly, following Hercules' orders. Though they were of the same rank, Martin Crieff automatically fell to rank of underling when Herc was around.

"What will we do without Arthur to steward? Do you think Carolyn will go on all the trips?"

Herc couldn't help but chuckle gruffly. The idea was an absurd one. Half the reason she 'employed' Arthur was so that she didn't have to deal with passengers.

"God no. She would kill them after the first two or three flights. No, I think she might just have to employ someone temporarily."


	2. Interviews

The steward sat in the corner of the room, watching the interviews for the new flight attendants (not cabin crew, that wasn't allowed. His mother had made that very clear from the start) and he was bored. None of them looked very fun, and his arm hurt. It always hurt now, no matter what pain relief Carolyn gave him. His head wasn't as painful as it had been, but that still hurt too, and he was fed up. His mother had banned him from stewarding, and that had upset him. A lot. He loved being around Skipper and Douglas, and despite not being able to work, his mother had allowed him to stay on the plane to train the new steward in G-ERTI's ways. As Douglas had said, aircraft varied, and none more so than G-ERTI, who changed from flight to flight.

"Arthur, loathe as I am to admit it, but I really do doubt that we'll be able to find someone as exceptionally awful at stewarding as you are."

Arthur, being his usual clot like self, didn't clock the insult."Don't worry mum, we'll find someone! I know we will."

There were still two other candidates, and Arthur was full of hope, as always.

"I hope you're right."

################################################## #############

The next candidate stood out to Arthur almost straight away. She entered the room fumbling with her handbag, before dropping it to the floor, her belongings scattering themselves across the portakabin. She swore softly, so no one could hear, and knelt down to pick up her things. Carolyn rolled her eyes, and Arthur leapt up to help her.

"Yellow car!"

The young woman looked up, confused.

"You have a yellow car on your keys," he said quietly, holding them up. "I know it's not technically a car, but it is a car, sort of."

"Arthur. Sit back down and do shut up." Carolyn sighed, irritated. It had been a long day, and all she needed was two bumbling, would-be stewards.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Knapp-Shappey," the young girl murmured, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. This was just brilliant. Her second ever job interview and she had already ruined it with her clumsiness.

Carolyn shook her head. She hadn't minded all that much. Arthur seemed to have taken to (she glanced at the girl's CV) Imogen (thank God, not a name worthy of those pony club types), and she seemed nice enough.

"It's fine. Have you ever worked as cabin crew before?"

Imogen shook her head, her auburn curls falling around her face. "No, I never have. I've flown plenty of times though. And I'm used to customer service. I've worked as a waitress for years."

"Why did you leave?"

Imogen bit her lip, thinking for a moment.

"My boss couldn't afford to keep the same amount of staff on. I offered to leave. I'd been there long enough, there was no chance to improve my position, or my pay, so I left."

Good enough for Carolyn. Arthur liked her, and dare she say it, even Carolyn herself had taken a bit of a shine to her.


	3. Learning

"And that's the kettle, where I make Skipper and Douglas tea. Skip has tea with everything in it, and Douglas has coffee with nothing in it. But sometimes Skip has coffee. In fact, you should probably just ask them what they want every time. And if you're making Admiral's Pie, which I think is a stupid name anyway, it's definitely one minute three minutes one minute. I think. I'll have to ask Mum."

Imogen raised an eyebrow. "Arthur, I really do appreciate you helping me, but I think I can work it out for myself. Kettle there, microwave there, cleaning supplies in the portakabin and or hold. I can do this."

Arthur's face fell and Imogen felt immensely guilty. She hadn't meant to snap. Arthur meant well, she should have known that. He was a nice person, if a bit bumbling and clumsy. Even by her standards, and she was a complete and utter klutz. Still, he was kind, and treated her well. Carolyn was stand-offish (though she was assured that this was entirely normal and nothing to worry about), Martin couldn't speak a full sentence without stammering or blushing (Douglas' explanation was the fact that she wasn't entirely horrific looking and Martin was awful with women) and Douglas was sarcastic and enjoyed playing pranks on her. Pranks that often got her into trouble with Carolyn. Imogen felt that Arthur was one of the only people that simply treated her for her, and not for the fact that she was a woman, or the new kid.

"I'm sorry Arthur. I'm just really nervous. I didn't mean to upset you."

That infectious smile of his re-appeared, and Imogen couldn't help but grin back at the almost thirty year old. His smile honestly was one that could light up a room, and improve the mood of all those within it. He was one of those people that seemed to be incredibly happy with whatever life threw at him, and she was jealous. She had no idea what made him quite so cheery, especially considering the usual snappiness of his mother, but it was something that she didn't take for granted, especially when she felt so low. He made her working hours bearable, even if she did sometimes get irritated with him for being a blundering idiot.


	4. Birling Day

"Oho! Not an old woman, nor the appearance of an idiot! The Gods have truly graced me this time. Now all I need to hear is that those two idiot pilots have disappeared."

Arthur turned quickly, shock flitting across his features for a moment. As far as he was aware, the Six Nations Rugby Tournament was still months away. Not that he was aware of much regarding rugby. Or anything else, for that matter.

"Mr Birling! The rugby isn't today, is it?"

The puffed up English Welshman shook his head. He appeared to fill the entirety of the aeroplane, his mostly white hair still shot with flecks of grey. Carolyn had briefed her on the mannerisms of the dreaded Mr B, how he expected everyone to toady to him, how he cared not a jot for protocol.

"Not rugby, no. The awful wife is determined to go to somewhere pretty and romantic for some anniversary and your awful lot can take me there. Don't want to go, but awful wife is awful and if she who must be obeyed is giving orders, then I must obey."

"What about Dresden, Mr Birling? I hear it's very nice there. And it's quiet, too. As a final plus, they sell wonderful, cheap beer."

"Not interested in beer, want the finest single malt around. Talisker."

Imogen tried not to sigh in irritation. He was an awkward customer, and she simply pointed out the way to Carolyn's office. She didn't know Mr Birling, apart from the reports, and didn't want to deal with something that wasn't really her problem.

"Talk to Mrs Knapp-Shappey about it. She'll be better at picking out a destination for you."

For once, the retiree said nothing in response, simply huffed and did as he was told.

"Wow, you got him to listen to you! You're brilliant!"

"Easy when you know how," she grinned, the small accomplishment boosting her confidence. It may improve the relationships with the other crew members. Not that they were bad, as such, simply needed a little bolstering.

##########################################

Arthur watched Imogen serve Mr Birling, slightly confused. She wasn't as sarcastic as Douglas, but not as quiet and anxious as Martin. Nor a total clot like him. But Mr Birling was listening to her, respecting her even. He didn't even listen to Carolyn. Was it because he thought she was pretty? No, that wasn't Mr Birling. Awful though his awful wife was, he genuinely cared about her. And besides, she was only a few seats away from him. He wouldn't dare attempt to even contemplate flirting when his wife was so close by. It wasn't the Talisker, either, because Carolyn had only been able to purchase a dozen miniatures, half a dozen for each leg of the trip. Not enough to get him drunk. Why then, was he treating her nicely? Okay, maybe not nicely. Arthur wasn't sure that it was even possible for Mr Birling to be nice. But whatever he was, it was close to it.

###########################################

He was still thinking about it (an extraordinary feat, especially for that of Arthur) when he delivered the coffees to the flight deck. It took two trips, and Imogen to make the coffee for him, but he was adamant that the flight deck hot drinks were his territory. He said nothing for a moment, trying to find the right introduction to it, but Douglas beat him to the chase.

"Either you have a crush on her or you feel even more useless than normal. You usually feel useless, and you haven't blushed all that much, so I'm now reconsidering my first deduction and coming up empty. What's the matter, Arthur?" The First Officer was surprisingly kind, and this made Arthur's conflicting emotions even worse.

"I'm confused, Douglas."

"Nothing new there then."

"Ignore him, Arthur. He's just fed up of playing Beat the Manual again. I told him that I would only play the Travelling Lemon if he played that." Martin didn't look up from the column, adjusting some instrument or other (he had tried explaining it all to Arthur, but as usual, Arthur hadn't listened or taken any of it in).

"Seriously though Arthur, what's wrong? Because if it's the Talisker again, I haven't touched them. Haven't even left the flight deck. Rest assured though, I'll manage it somehow. Even with an extra pair of hands, I'll still outsmart Miss Marple here."

Arthur tried to raise a smile, but found he couldn't, so settled for a half-hearted grimace instead. It wasn't nearly as good as he had hoped, but it was something, right? Besides, he was too confused and too conflicted to bother trying.

"Dear God, that was awful. Is someone dying? Because if one of the passengers have finally swung for Carolyn, I need photographic evidence for prosperity."

"No, no, it's not Mum. It's Imogen. Well. Mr Birling really. He's being nice to her. Well. I mean, he's always nice, sort of, but he's really nice to her."

Douglas rolled his eyes at the pathetic attempt at an explanation. He managed to figure out what Arthur was trying to say, however.

"You're saying that Mr Birling is acting somewhat politely and respectfully towards our lovely stewardess, which is confusing you because he's never like that and she's nothing special. Is that it?"

"She is special! She's brilliant, actually. She's pretty, and she's nice, and she doesn't call me a clot." Nor did she treat him like one, not unless he'd done something spectacularly idiotic, which luckily hadn't happened too often, as there were only so many clumsy things a one handed Arthur could do.

Douglas narrowed his eyes. Arthur wasn't sounding any more admiring towards her than he did towards himself or Martin. Not a crush then. Not entirely.

"Perhaps Mr Birling like being served by someone who isn't seen as ugly looking or completely imbecilic in his eyes. Have you thought of that?"

Arthur shut his mouth, temporarily stunned into silence. He hadn't thought of that. There was something more though. Something more about her. They had all noticed it, but couldn't figure out what it was. And he, Arthur Shappey, was going to figure it out. Even if it took the rest of his life (which, knowing him, was quite possible).


	5. Rebecca Topaz

He watched Imogen as she cleaned the galley (he wasn't too upset about not being able to do that, it was hardly his favourite job) and narrowed his eyes. He still couldn't explain why he thought she was different, and no one else had made the effort. Douglas and Martin had barely spoken to her in the first week she had been there, but that was mostly down to Arthur vociferously defending his rights to serve the coffee to Douglas and Skip. The flight to Dresden (again, she had been right and Mr Birling and Carolyn had agreed with her) had taken seven hours, and she had only appeared to give them lunch; Mr Birling not allowing her to stay around for a while and chat. With Arthur and Carolyn, he was all too happy to leave them to do what they liked, but he actually spoke to Imogen like she was an actual human being, capable of thoughts and feelings, and liked to keep her close to him so that he could talk to her.

"Arthur, are you aware that there's a mouldy ham sandwich in the back of the fridge?" Imogen held it at arms length, her usually smiling face screwed up in disgust.

Oh. Arthur had forgotten about that. It had started off as an experiment, but then he'd just left it.

"Well, Mum was telling me about how bacteria and stuff grow and then multiply, and I was wondering if the rest of the sandwich would do the same. You know, multiply. Because it would have been brilliant if it worked. Can you imagine? Two sandwiches and you'd only have to buy one!"

Imogen couldn't help but giggle a little, even if she was holding what she was fairly sure was some sort of biological weapon. "If only it worked like that, Arthur."

"I know," he pouted. "Then Skip would be able to eat."

Imogen frowned, as she turned to place the offending item in the bin (making a mental note to alert the authorities of it's presence), trying not to show any interest in Martin Crieff. But what the hell, Arthur had piqued her interest.

"What do you mean by that, Arthur?"

Oh God. He wasn't meant to say anything. His mother had very firm in that respect. Now the new steward was going to mock Martin just like Douglas did.

"Well, er, well, er. I'm not meant to say."

She could see the cogs turning in his brain, the goldfish like appearance of his gaping mouth.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, Arthur. You're the only one I really talk to anyway." She was desperate to know.

"Well, Mum doesn't pay Skip because she doesn't have any money and he really likes to fly, so he never tries to leave MJN because he can't find anywhere else and Mum says he's misguidedly loyal and I don't even know what that means but he definitely is because Douglas agrees." It came out as a garbled rush, and Imogen had to work hard to decipher it all.

"You mean he can't afford to eat?" Her voice was small, and her eyes held a haunted quality. She tangled with the cleaning cloth in her tiny hands.

Arthur nodded, watching her closely. Why was she so upset? It was sad, definitely, but Skip really enjoyed flying.

"It's okay though, because we fly a lot and mum always makes sure that Skip eats properly when he flies, but don't tell her I said that, because she'll just tell you that you're being stupid and she really does do that a lot. To me, I mean. Not to you. Because she doesn't actually think you're stupid. She actually thinks you're really clever, and I think so too."

Imogen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was heartening to know that Carolyn believed she was at least one IQ point above Arthur. The woman wasn't one to give her emotions away, Imogen knew that much, but Carolyn was nice enough to her. Returning to her cleaning, she swiped the cloth across the surfaces, scrubbing furiously.

"You're really old," Arthur commented after a few minutes of silence (a feat for Arthur), perched on the sixteenth seat of G-ERTI, closest to the galley without actually getting in the way. Carolyn had been very firm in that respect. He was permanently on red alert, being even more useless and trying to be even more helpful than usual.

Imogen looked up in shock, trying not to scowl but probably failing miserably. "Arthur, I'm younger than you are. Six years younger. How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?"

Oh dear. He thought he might have upset her. Perhaps his choice of words hadn't been all that smart. Not that they tended to be anywhere near.

"Well," he started, really trying his best not to get himself in any more trouble than he already was, "I know you're younger than everyone and everything, but you act older. Like, when no one sees you, you don't smile, and you look all funny, like you're faraway, which I know you are, because you're in Germany and everything but it's different. Like, when Skip is flying, he has a funny look on his face, like he's really really happy and it's all he wants to do. But you're different. When you talk to everyone you're really smiley and happy, but you look really old, like, I don't know, like lots of stuff has happened and it's made you really old and sad. You can see it in your eyes, like it's hidden away."

Imogen clenched the cloth tightly, her topaz coloured eyes (Douglas had taken it upon himself to call her Rebecca, though no one had bothered explaining it to her) darkening slightly, edges becoming more tawny than golden. Her shoulders were tensed, and she seemed ready to run for dear life at the very next moment.

"I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about, Arthur." Her voice was quiet, tones clipped and measured.

He knew he'd said something wrong then. She was upset, angry even. But he hadn't said anything _too _bad, had he? Really, he hadn't said anything much at all.

"I'm older than you, but everyone says they think you're older. Mr B likes you, and he doesn't like anyone, and even Mum likes you, and she _hates _cabin crew. I mean flight attendants."

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm just tired." Tired of people continually asking her if she was okay, tired of people picking up on how quiet she was, how mature she was.

"You probably won't like the hotel that Mum's booked us into then. I don't even know what it's called, because it's all in German, which is silly really because loads of people speak English in Germany."

"And why won't I like it?"

"Because Carolyn likes to conserve money wherever we can and often puts up up in complete _dives._" This from Douglas, who had sauntered down from the flight deck, having completed all the post landing checks.

"Where are we staying?"

"Günstige Dresden-Gästehaus. I believe, though, and I highly doubt this, that my pronunciation may be slightly inaccurate. German is not my favourite language. Too much hacking and gagging at people."

"Are we ready to go now Douglas?" This from Arthur, relieved to be saved from his blunder and ready for the off. He had never flown to Dresden before, and was as excitable as ever, if not more so.

"We're all done at the pointy end, yes. Come on idiot features. You too, Rebecca."

"It's Imogen," she muttered, grinning slightly. She enjoyed Douglas' humour, especially the way he kept everyone in check. Grabbing at her jacket and flight bag, she followed the rest of MJN's crew out into the balmy German evening.


	6. Polar Bears and Matching Socks

Carolyn had booked her in a twin room with Arthur. Not that Imogen particularly minded, but Arthur did tend to grate after a while. Add that to his habit of putting one object of clothing in every drawer, and she was ready to tear her hair out after just ten minutes.

"Arthur, please don't split your socks up. I still have things to unpack, I'm sure we can fill the drawers."

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry Imogen!"

At least he called her by her name, which was more than Douglas did. Lifting her clothes out of her flight bag, she filled two of the drawers, which Arthur was more than happy about, as it meant that no socks needed to be split.

"Arthur, I meant to ask something." She turned to face him, shaking her head in amusement at his bouncing on his bed. Was the steward ever anything less than exuberantly cheery? "Why does Douglas call me Rebecca Topaz?"

Arthur giggled, remembering the trip to Qikiqtarjuaq, and the polar bears.

"We went to this place in Canada, to see the polar bears, and there was this woman from this company called Unbeaten Track Travel and we had to show the passengers the polar bears because their plane had broken down or something. The woman was really nasty, but Martin liked her, so Douglas and Mum wanted to bully her. Well, not bully, but they wanted to make things more fun, so Douglas tried to put in as many Hitchcock films into the cabin address. I don't even know who Hitchcock is, but he must be clever if he made all those films. He called Mum 'Rebecca Topaz', because those are two different films, and he calls you it because he says your eyes look like topaz and because we all think you're a mystery, just like what Hitchcock did."

While the explanation made very little sense to her, the Hitchcock thing did. She had watched Douglas and Martin play the word games, even joined in herself on occasion (receiving the compliment that she was better than Arthur at it). She was surprised that Douglas found her a mystery though. She wasn't all that mysterious, simply professional, but she supposed in a small, close knit company like MJN, everyone knew everything about the others, and as the new kid on the block, she did pose somewhat of a puzzle.

"Do you think he'll ever call me by my actual name?" She mused, her eyes still sparkling with amusement, not just at Arthur now, but at Douglas, who had been observant enough to notice the colour of her eyes.

"I don't know. I think it depends on how long you stay. I think Mum might keep you as long as she can, because everyone likes you, even the customers, and they usually hate everyone, especially-"

"Especially Mr Birling. I think I'd picked that up." She was inherently pleased though, at being accepted as one of the team. Martin had confided in her that MJN, and particularly Carolyn and Douglas, were not all too friendly to those they didn't know, and that it had taken him a while to fit in. That hadn't been the case with her, however. She had moulded straight into the mismatched group, and couldn't be happier at it, as MJN felt like the family that she had never had.

Arthur ceased his relentless bouncing as there was a knock at the door, and bounced instead his way to the door, beaming widely as Douglas and Martin entered.

"Hey Douglas, hey Skip! I love this place! I didn't have to split my socks, thanks to Imogen, and they even have little shampoos for us!"

"Better than the usual dumps we get stuck in, yes," Douglas drawled, inspecting the room. It was pleasant, despite being interminably cheap and cheerful. It fit Arthur well. "Anyway, I've come to take you ladies to dinner. Mr Birling has offered us an extra tip in advance for suggesting a location that his awful wife loves."

"Hey!"

"We'd love to. Just give me a minute to get changed out of my uniform." Imogen hunted through the drawers, not entirely sure what to pick out for dinner, not knowing where they were going. She quickly settled on jeans and a chiffon blouse, and hurried into the bathroom to change and fix her hair, which had corkscrewed into unruly curls from the heat.

"Wow Imogen, you look brilliant! Doesn't she chaps?"

The First Officer looked her over with a raised brow, noting the way the clothes hung from her, having not noticed it before, in the uniform that was far too big and would make even Arthur look miniscule. Carolyn had had to guess Imogen's size, and was particularly awful at things like that, having not thought to ask her, or, God forbid, take her with her. It gave Douglas food for thought, and a slight inkling of why the copper haired stewardess was such a conundrum. Martin frowned as he viewed her, eyes narrowed. He had never properly spoken to Imogen, too blundering and nervous to. It wasn't that he had fallen for her, because he was still in touch with Princess Thereza, it was simply the fact that Martin Crieff could not talk to women, whether he found them attractive or not. Be that as it may, he couldn't help but wonder how she lived. Martin had explained to Carolyn that he was often unable to afford to eat, and was curious to know if it was the same for Imogen, or if there was a deeper, more worrying reason for her low weight.

"She looks lovely. Shall we go?"


	7. Peter Pan

"Alright idiots, get G-ERTI ready, we have another job." Carolyn bustled into G-ERTI, having seen Mr and Mrs Birling off with a smile, having had a generous cheque pressed into her hand.

"Carolyn, we need at least six hours-" Martin interjected, always a stickler for rules.

"Which you will have if you disappear quickly. Go, shoo." Flapping her arms, Carolyn shepherded the pilots off of G-ERTI, before turning to the flight attendants. "Now, Arthur, Imogen, we have a plane to clean and make look marginally less as though it was simply duct tape holding it together. Mr Alyakhin and his brigade of yachters want to travel to Florida for some event or other, and who to fly them but our merry band of misfits?"

Arthur's mouth, for once silent, made an 'o' of surprise. If there were too many passengers, he might have to be left behind, and he didn't want that. He was one step closer to figuring out Imogen, and besides, how was he going to look after himself? He had only ever made dinner for himself once, and that had resulted in a hospital trip for minor burns and smoke inhalation. Carolyn had never left him alone again, not without emergency services on speed dial (because Arthur was forever getting the emergency codes mixed up with those of other countries they had visited), a neighbour to watch out for tell-tale signs of smoke or other damage, and something in the fridge for Arthur to heat up in the microwave. Suffice to say, she didn't leave the house much. Besides, it was a long trip, from Fitton to Russian, from Russia to Florida. Three days away at least, and Arthur doubted that he would be able to survive that long on his own.

"How many of them will there be, Mum?" His voice was small and almost frightened, holding none of his usual enthusiasm. Though he was thirty years old, he acted much younger, and secretly hated to be left alone, which was half the reason that he was still a steward at his age, albeit an abominably bad one, and still lived with his mother.

Carolyn knew this, and sighed slightly. The trip was going to be long and arduous, and an Arthur in pain and an overly helpful mood was not going to make things any easier. That, plus the fact that Carolyn despised Alyakhin, and had never forgiven him for calling her 'baboushka' and having the rest of the yacht club join in. "Ten, Arthur, which means you won't starve while we're gone. Though you will be under very strict instructions not to talk to them, not to serve them any drinks, or even speak unless it's to us. Got it?"

She waited for Arthur's dutiful nod, before turning to Imogen. "Mr Alyakhin is a very rich, very powerful Russian millionaire, and regularly flies with MJN Air. Your job will be to serve their every whim and make sure that this runs as a profitable airline, not a bottomless money pit, as Douglas seems to think it is. Oh, and they'll probably bring their own drinks aboard. Let them, but then give them the regular stuff. They can't tell the difference. And for God's sake don't let Douglas anywhere near them. It's Birling Day all over again, except this time the drinks are worth more. Much more."

Imogen nodded, taking it all in. If Mr Alyakhin was like Mr Birling (and it sounded like he was, just not as bad) then it would be an easy enough trip, providing she could decipher the accent. If MJN's worst customer liked and respected her, then any other customer would be just fine. It had been a baptism of fire, but Imogen was more than ready for the rest of the jobs. After all, she was one of the team, wasn't she?

"Hook, you man the hoover, you can manage one handed."

"He's more like Peter Pan; the boy who never grew up," she added, smirking when Carolyn shot her an amused glance before continuing.

"Imogen, I need you to sort out the catering here and also phone ahead to Vladivostok and see what they have available. We may have to bulk order here, depending on their menu. You're also in charge of re-stocking the galley. I need a vast quantity of wine, red and white, coffee and brandy, along with all the usual. You can take my car, you've been updated on to the business policy. You can help me clear this place up after you get back, though I can see you've done a better job than Arthur usually does."

Beaming at the compliment, Imogen caught the keys deftly, mentally rifling through the menu. "Won't be long Carolyn. Oh, the credit card. Is it in the portakabin?" Carolyn kept MJN's account details either in her purse or in a strongbox in the office, and Imogen was unsure of where they were. She didn't have her own key to the strongbox, but Carolyn did, and it resided on the same key chain as her car and house keys. As the CEO inclined her head in response, Imogen skipped down to the office, rubbing her arms briskly. The September breeze was biting, and she wasn't looking forward to Russia's temperature. Thank God it was an overnight stopover and they wouldn't be there for any great length of time.


	8. Vladivostok

"You're very quiet, Imogen. And you haven't touched your lunch. If you want a break, I'm happy to serve them drinks for an hour so you can have a break."

They had been flying for over ten hours now, and Imogen was so tired she could barely think straight. Arthur had taken Carolyn's advice and was sleeping the journey away, something Imogen desperately wished she could do.

"Thanks Carolyn, but I'm not really hungry. I'll be okay for another hour or two."

Smiling, she served one of the yachters, and made her way to the galley. Arthur had started to wake, and she grinned at him briefly as she walked past, yawning slightly. Eight hours into the journey, she had already served lunch, been round with the drinks trolley three times, and now she was beginning to flag. The stopover in Vladivostok hadn't seemed nearly long enough, despite the twelve hours of sleep they had all managed. Pouring the red wine (as per Carolyn's orders, it was Chateau Gatwick, and not the expensive alcohol that the yachters had brought aboard), Imogen's hands slipped and she dropped the box to the floor with a softly spoken expletive. The red wine stained the floor, and Imogen blushed, ashamed of her rookie mistake.

"You're going to be in trouble, Imogen," Arthur whispered, poking his head round the curtain.

"I know, I know," she murmured, furiously scrubbing the floor.

"Going to be in trouble why?" Carolyn peered around Arthur (because she had no chance at looking over him), and scowled. "Imogen, I am giving you five minutes to clear that up, and the carpet washer that we're probably going to need will be coming out of your wages."

"I'm sorry Carolyn." She murmured, eyes awash with tears that no one saw, still attempting to get rid of most of the mess.

"Get some sleep after this. I'll take care of them for a few hours." With that, the CEO swept off grumpily, leaving Imogen to slump against the cabinets, sniffing pathetically. She was exhausted and stressed beyond all belief, and working as hard as she could, but damn it, she wasn't used to such long shifts.

"Are you okay, Imogen?" Arthur crouched down beside her, looking up at her with green eyes full of sympathy. He was forever dropping things, and Carolyn was always shouting at him and calling him a clot.

"I'm fine, I'm just being stupid. I can't believe I dropped it. Now your mother is going to kill me, or worse, I'm going to lose my job and I'll not get another one." She was overreacting, and deep down she knew it, but like most people, she became overly dramatic when tired.

"She won't fire you, don't worry. I do it _all _the time, and she doesn't fire me. She just hates serving Mr Alyakhin, that's why she got mad. He keeps calling her baboushka and she hates that." He was still grinning, as always, and it cheered Imogen slightly.

###########################################

As the yacht club piled off the plane and waited for their taxis, Imogen approached Carolyn nervously. She had performed excellently apart from the one wine incident, and the passengers had once again commended Carolyn on Imogen's conduct.

"What is it, Imogen?" Carolyn was exhausted after the overnight journey, and longed to collapse into her hotel bed and sleep for the next three days that they had in Florida.

She passed over the tips she had made to the CEO, who looked at her with disbelief.

"I never thought I would need to say this to you, because you've a few more brain cells than Arthur, but I pay you. You don't pay me."

Imogen let out a small giggle, and adjusted her hair; a few unruly curls having escaped her sleek chignon. "It's tips. Mr Alyakhin and the rest of the yachters really liked me."

"Then why on Earth are you giving them to me?"

"When I was working in the restaurant, we split all of the tips. Customers gave tips to the waitresses, but they were meant for everyone. A lot goes on behind closed doors and those that work out of sight never get enough credit."

Loathe as she was to admit it; Carolyn respected the girl for her honesty. Most people would have kept the money for themselves, but not Imogen. She was extraordinarily like Arthur, though a damn sight more intelligent, which was why everyone got on with her so well. She wasn't so different that they couldn't get along, but not too similar that they tore their hair out in exasperation.

"Imogen, let me just say this, and if you ever think to repeat it I shall both deny all knowledge and very likely fire you, but you earned that money. They gave it to you for the job that you did, and you did it very well. None of the others were offered any tips, and they all watched the yacht club leave. Now come on. Let's get G-ERTI cleaned up and closed down for the night before we sleep off the jet lag."


	9. Shamu

"Now, I'm not usually one to turn up a free trip," Douglas started, his scowl perfectly arranged.

"Or free alcohol," Martin muttered.

"-But do we _really _need to go to an aquarium? All of us?"

Arthur (who had thus far been bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement) pouted. It was almost his thirtieth birthday and his mother had promised that they would celebrate it whilst in America. It had seemed the perfect location, and Arthur was ecstatic at the thought of being a tourist in Florida. It was just the right place for the excitable steward, giving him numerous options for things to do.

"Yes, we do." Carolyn stated curtly. "It's almost Arthur's thirtieth birthday and God knows we need to celebrate him getting to this age without accidentally killing himself. And he decided that he wants to go see Shamu. So to the show we go."

"I noticed Miss Topaz doesn't have to go." Douglas didn't know what excuse Imogen had used, but he was annoyed that he hadn't used the same one and begged leave from what would no doubt become a disaster of Arthurian proportions.

"Imogen's not well, Douglas. She really wanted to come but she looks really ill." Arthur had just come from their twin room and she had been pale and shaky. She had had a rough night; Arthur had woken to hear her whimpering and fidgeting in her sleep. He had woken her every time, watched her terror before she realised what was going on. Arthur didn't take it personally; he could remember when he used to have nightmares, just after his father had left. Carolyn had held him while he had come round, wiped away his tears and assured him that Gordon Shappey leaving was not the youngster's fault.

"Lucky for some," came the mutinous response. "Alright, fine. But I want to keep a bottle of Alyakhin's wine."

"Done." Carolyn was in no mood to argue with him, and the yachters had brought a multitude. She was prepared to cope with the loss of a single bottle for the sake of her son, though she would never admit that to him.

################################################## ###

"Arthur, put your phone away, it'll get wet," Martin murmured. Carolyn had somehow arranged for them to be in the front row, and although the phone had survived enough Arthur mishaps, being drenched would most likely finally kill it off.

Arthur didn't reply, but sighed, shoving it into his pocket. He had been trying to reach Imogen, but to no avail. He wasn't sure how to explain his worries to Martin, but the Captain was least likely to brush off his concern, even if he thought it was unfounded. The Skipper would probably just say she was sleeping off a headache (for that was the excuse she had given) and that there was no reason for him to panic. But Arthur knew that there was something deeper, far more worrying than that.

"Do you think she's okay?" He asked quietly, the dolphins and whales (usually brilliant, but dulled somewhat with concern) not captivating him as they should. Martin could easily tell that something was bothering Arthur, and bit his lip.

"I'm not sure, Arthur. Like you said, she didn't look very well. Maybe some sleep will help." However, that wasn't what Arthur meant, and they both knew it. Martin had been observing Imogen for a while, and had noticed those tell tale signs of low mood. God knew he knew what she was feeling. How many times had he lain in his attic, curled up in his sleeping bag on the floor, wishing that life would just pass him by?

"Yeah. Maybe." Arthur wasn't convinced, however, and that gnawing, anxious feeling in the pit of stomach didn't ease throughout the show, but remained, getting progressively worse. He barely even registered the end of it, only applauding when Martin nudged him in the shoulder. It was half-hearted, and the frown on the steward's face had grown. It was a sure sign that something was wrong when the usually chipper Arthur was not happy. Say what they like about him, Arthur was an excellent barometer for everyone's mood. If someone wasn't feeling themselves, you could always count on him to notice, even if they hid it well.

"I thought you'd be about ready to jump into the tank with them, Arthur. Don't tell me I dragged myself here for nothing," Douglas drawled, fluffy dolphin under arm as a present for his daughter. He had actually rather enjoyed the show, but wished his family could have been there. His biological one, at least. He knew that his daughter would have loved the show, dolphins being up there with ponies as her favourite animals.

Arthur didn't reply, but pulled out his phone, brows furrowed in concern as Imogen didn't pick up. Another chirpy voice-mail message.

"It's Imogen here. I'm probably out of the country with my job, so leave a message after the tone and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Not bothering to leave a message, Arthur sighed. Something really was desperately wrong and the rest of the crew hadn't really seemed to notice. Martin had figured out something, as had Douglas, but none of them seemed too concerned. As for Carolyn, she was rarely around Imogen, and didn't really know her, not like her son did.

"Something's wrong with Imogen, Mum," he implored his mother, green eyes wide with fear. He liked the stewardess. She treated him as her equal, which was more than could be said for the rest of MJN.

"She has a headache, like you said, Arthur. Honestly, what's the matter with you? You barely paid any attention to the show, and I paid through the nose for front row seats."

"No, mum, something worse. You have to believe me. I just know these things."

That was true, certainly. He had never been wrong when it came to figuring out emotions, even if he was usually completely erroneous when it came to everything else. That was one of the reasons that Carolyn tried to protect him as much as she did. As a child, Arthur could always tell when she and Gordon had argued, and it had devastated him. Even now, he still blamed himself, and threw himself into trying to cheer everyone around him up.

"She has been acting strangely, Carolyn. We've noticed it for quite some time." This from Douglas, ever the voice of reason. If he thought there was a reason to be worried, then there more than definitely was.

"All right, all right, fine," Carolyn held her hands up in defeat. "We'll go back, check on her, and then when we find out everything is perfectly fine, we go to lunch. I very firmly intend on making the most of these few days in glorious sunshine."


	10. Lost Keys and Yellow Cars

Arthur tapped his foot impatiently on the taxi ride back to the hotel (they were known as 'cabs' in America, Douglas informed him). They had managed to get themselves stuck in the lunchtime rush, and the ride was interminable. His anxiety had risen to such a level that he hadn't even noticed the yellow car going past, and Douglas threw a glance at Carolyn, who appeared deep in thought. It wasn't like Arthur to be like this, as everyone knew, and it usually meant that something awful had happened. She desperately hoped that this wasn't the case, as she genuinely liked Imogen. She was quiet but effective, and all of MJN's customers adored her. Though she wouldn't dare admit it to the rest of the crew, or even herself, she had considered hiring Imogen as a permanent member of the team. It meant she could spend more time with Herc, and less time in the air.

"Mum, what if she's hurt?" Arthur asked, his voice quiet and sounding younger than usual. The poor boy was obviously terrified.

"She'll be fine, Arthur, stop worrying."

But how wrong she was. After what was an excruciating forty minute journey (it should have only taken fifteen), Arthur leapt from the taxi, urging the others onward, with cries of, "Come on, come on, hurry up! Imogen needs us!" Carolyn motioned for them to head up to the room as she paid the cabbie.

When she reached the twin room that Imogen and Arthur had been sharing a few minutes later, she was met with frowns. It didn't take long for the recriminations to start.

"It would appear that Arthur has forgotten his key." Douglas drawled, his usually sarcastic voice laced with concern.

"I think I left it in the room," he wailed, wringing his hands in a paroxysm of anxiety. "Now we can't get in and it's all my fault. What if she really needs us?" The steward was on the verge of tears, and Carolyn placed a comforting hand on the small of his back, as she had done since he was a small child.

"Douglas, have you knocked?" She inquired briskly, checking her own bag, in case Arthur had given her the key for safe keeping. No such luck.

"Of course I have. No reply. I've called as well, but nothing."

"All right, don't panic. Silly girl is probably still sleeping. I'll go and borrow another one from reception. Douglas, with me. Arthur, you stay here with Martin, and keep knocking. You might wake her up, and I'm sure you'll want to be there when she shouts at you."

Inclining her head in the direction of the lifts, Douglas followed the CEO as she set off at a brisk pace. Carolyn never simply walked anywhere, but rather adopted a sort of power walk, that told everyone around her that she was not a little old lady, thank you very much, but a very important business woman. Once out of earshot, she mumbled to Douglas;

"What do you think is going on, Douglas? And don't spare me any gruesome details, I want to know everything."

The first officer took a breath before answering, stowing his hands in his trousers before answering (making sure, of course, that they were alone in the lift). "I dear she may have had some sort of accident. You must have noticed that she rarely eats, Carolyn. And Martin and I have observed that she often seems very withdrawn. More so in the last few weeks. I don't want to cause alarm, but I am highly concerned for her."

Carolyn nodded, not bothering with a reply. What would she say? Any attempt to lighten the mood would more than likely fail, and she didn't want to dwell on anything morose. No, she would continue to hope and pray that her star stewardess was simply sleeping, as she had told Arthur. After the restless night that Arthur had made her aware of (it had been a simple, "Imogen didn't sleep very well, so I didn't sleep either," after she had remarked that he looked slightly drawn), she would have been exhausted. Carolyn knew the feeling. Often, after a trip as long as this, she slept long and deeply, barely waking for her alarms.

Marching towards reception as soon as the doors of the lift slid open, Carolyn prepared for battle. She knew what these hotels were like, hated giving out extra keys. And Lord knows she had fought this battle a million times or more, with Arthur forever accidentally locking himself out or losing his key.

"Miss Knapp-Shappey, a replacement key will not be possible for a few hours."

"You must have some sort of master key, I know you do. And I don't need another key, it's more than likely in the damn room. I just need to get into the room to check it for the said key." Her tone was sharp, and discouraged further argument.

"All right, fine. But if you cannot find it, there will be an extra charge of twenty dollars to your bill." The receptionist was cool, having dealt with a thousand Carolyn's before. Being a family orientated hotel, he was often having replacement keys cut, and as such had decided to charge for them. After all, they cost him money, therefore they should cost the idiot that had lost it in the first place money too.

"I don't care, just get me into the bloody room, and quickly. It's urgent."

Having taken umbrage at her tone, the receptionist moved deliberately slowly, taking his time to leave his desk and hunt for the master key. Carolyn was about ready to force him along, though refrained when Douglas placed a warning hand at her elbow, reminding her in hushed tones that he was more than likely to slow further if she attempted to chivvy him along. Instead, they increased their pace, forcing the receptionist to take longer strides in which to keep up with them.

They returned to the room ten minutes after they had left it, and thankfully, Martin had managed to calm Arthur down, who, according to the Captain, 'was about two minutes away from breaking down the door,' and the steward was simply chewing his nails in apprehension, a habit he had picked up in childhood. Though he had successfully ceased this habit (after Carolyn had forced him to wear the foul tasting nail varnish), he had been known to revert to it in times of extreme stress. His mother refused to chide him for it, and instead moved aside for the receptionist to unlock the door, motioning for Martin to keep Arthur at bay until they knew what was going on. If Imogen _was _hurt in some way, Carolyn wanted to shield Arthur from it.

"Douglas, help me look for her." Carolyn marched over to the bed, finding it empty and cold, indicating that it had been vacated for some time. Frowning, she pondered where Imogen might have gone. It was too late for breakfast, similarly for lunch, and if Douglas' stories about her skipping meals were true, then she wouldn't have had any anyway. Searching in her bedside drawer revealed no further clues; a well used lip balm, facial wipes and various other toiletries were all that were there, along with her travel documents and passports, and a few stray dollar bills and loose change.

"Jesus Chri- Carolyn! Someone call an ambulance, for God's sake!" Came the bellow from the bathroom, and Carolyn rushed to Douglas, and also, she correctly assumed, Imogen. Arthur had charged in despite Martin holding him back, and entered the tiny bathroom at the same time that she did.

Carolyn's hands flew to her mouth, and tears sprung to her eyes. Douglas had dragged the unconscious stewardess out of the bath, depositing her none too gently onto the bathroom floor. The first officer being gentle was immaterial; resuscitating Imogen came first. Scrabbling in her bag again, Carolyn was on the phone to emergency services, barely able to string a coherent sentence together.

"Martin," she called, "Look for any pill bottles, they want to know if she's taken anything."

The captain manoeuvred his way carefully around Douglas and Imogen, and searched the bathroom, finding an empty bottle of sleeping tablets beneath the sink, prescribed to Imogen.

"Sleeping pills, Carolyn," he managed breathlessly, bringing the bottle out to her for her to give to the paramedics.

"Come on, damnit, breathe!" Douglas was administering cardio-pulmonary resuscitation, chest compressions that would no doubt damage her sternum and ribs, but again, that mattered very little if she did not breathe for herself soon. A few minutes had elapsed, and for everyone else, the time seemed more like a few seconds, but for Arthur, who looked on in horror, it felt like hours, possibly even days. He had known instinctively that there was something wrong with Imogen, and there most certainly was.

There was a choking, gurgling sound as Imogen took a breath of her own. She didn't regain consciousness, but her breathing was testimony to Douglas' skills, and the first officer wiped the cold sweat from his face with his forearm, before putting her in the recovery position, before collapsing back from his kneeling position onto the bathroom floor with a deep, shaky breath. He had done all he could, now it was time to give Imogen over to the paramedics who had just arrived, and let them do what they could for the stewardess.


	11. Family

A.N. This took so long to do, I'm so sorry! There's still a chapter left to do, but I promise the wait won't be as long as it was for this one!

The remaining crew of MJN sat in the waiting room ( technically families only, but Carolyn had argued that they _were _Imogen's family, more or less) for three hours, while they stabilised the stewardess. No one had come to tell them anything, and they were all getting antsy. Arthur had chewed his nails to the quick, and had now started on the skin around his thumb. Carolyn removed it gently. Douglas was pacing, and had refused to sit down the entire time they had been there. He was still damp, and Carolyn had encouraged him to go back to the hotel and change, but he had demurred. The First Officer felt responsible for her, as he had been the one who had probably saved her life. If she was to die, he would no doubt blame himself. Martin was pale, and tapped his foot anxiously. It was as though he was blaming himself for not noticing it all sooner. As for Carolyn, she was picking arguments with doctors and nurses, desperate to find out something, anything. At this point, they didn't even know whether she was alive or not. She desperately hoped for the former. Although Imogen hadn't worked for MJN long, she was as much part of their dysfunctional family as Douglas or Martin, and Carolyn knew that they would all be devastated if she were to lose her life.

"Are you family?" The blonde doctor walked into the room, his steps quick. He looked exhausted, as though he hadn't slept in a week. Carolyn wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad omen.

"I'm her Aunt," she answered quickly. She needed to know what was going on. They all did. The crew did not respond to this, and the doctor seemed to believe her. "Is she okay? Can we see her?"

The doctor slid into a chair opposite Carolyn, and ran a hand through his hair. It remained sticking up in odd tufts, and if were any other time, she would have mocked him. As it was, she barely even noticed. "Imogen was in a very bad way when she came in. Her heart stopped-"

Arthur let out a strangled cry. "We were too late, Mum!" His forest green eyes sparkled, and Douglas had stopped pacing.

"But we managed to restart it," he continued, ignoring Arthur.

A collective sigh of relief passed through the room. Thank God. That meant she was alive. For now, at least.

"However, the sedatives she took were particularly strong, and she had mixed them with alcohol. She also has fluid in her lungs from her attempt to drown herself."

"Well? What have you done to save her?" Carolyn snapped, her already worn nerves strained considerably more in the last few moments.

"We have pumped her stomach and administered active charcoal. That will neutralise anything that is left in her system. As for the fluid, that should clear up of it's own accord. Imogen has three fractured ribs from the cardio-pulmonary rescuscitation, but that is entirely normal. If it were not for your co-worker's quick thinking, she most certainly would not have pulled through. She is resting at the moment, but I can allow you all to see her, as long as you are quiet." The doctor smiled for the first time. It struck Carolyn that if he smiled more, he would look much younger and kinder. Carolyn nodded thankfully, the lines on her face smoothing themselves out a little. She took hold of Arthur by the wrist, as he was full of nervous excitement. Imogen was going to be okay. She would recover, and MJN would back to being (arguably) a fully functioning airline. It was at that point that the CEO realised that she had begun to look upon Imogen as a daughter, Douglas was more like an irritating brother, but Martin, Arthur and Imogen were like her children. No matter what they may say about the customer service, or the meals or G-ERTI herself, MJN was, first and foremost, a family. And families looked out for one another. Even if they weren't biologically related. Glancing over at the rest of the mismatched family, she saw them relax, and Douglas even managed a small, smug smirk.

"Well, I had to learn _something _at medical school, didn't I?"

"I must urge you to be quiet though. She needs a lot of rest." Carolyn shot Arthur another look, who mimed sipping his mouth shut and throwing away the key.

"Good boy, Arthur," she murmured absent-mindedly, as the troupe followed the doctor to where Imogen lay. MJN had a comprehensive travel insurance policy, so they could afford a private room.

They paraded into the room, a collection of mismatched, ruffled and exhausted bodies, and watched the steady rise and fall of Imogen's chest. A few hours ago, it had been non-existent, and all needed the reassurance that it would not happen again. Arthur bounced over to the bed, and peered down at the tubes and wires traversing her tiny body. Taking one hand, he stroked it softly. Each member of MJN felt as though they were to blame, the stench of guilt mixing with the dry air that was unique to hospitals.

"You have to wake up, Imogen. Mum won't want to serve Mr Alyakhin on her own on the flight back, and I can't do it. I'll let you wear my hat."

Carolyn placed a reassuring hand on the small of her son's back, and he turned to her, tears in his eyes.

"I just want her to be okay, Mum," he pleaded softly.

"And she will be," Douglas countered gently. "Especially when she hears that we'll let her have first stab at the cheese tray. I might even let her have a bottle of Talisker."

"Sold," she murmured, her voice rough and hoarse from having her stomach pumped. Opening her eyes slowly, she peered around the room, eyes filled with sadness and shame.

"You're awake!" Arthur chimed, wrapping his arms around her carefully. Imogen winced and he let her go promptly, apologising.

Douglas leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually. "So what happened, Imogen? What caused you to do something like this?" It didn't take a detective to know that he was relieved to have her wake up, and that he was thinking of his own daughter, who wasn't that much younger than Imogen. His words were soft, soothing.

She stared at her hands, not answering for a moment. "I don't know," she admitted finally, looking up at him with eyes that held a lifetime of pain and suffering. Carolyn's mother's instincts overcame her then, and she looked sharply at Douglas, before approaching the bed.

"Don't worry about it, Imogen. We don't care. We just want you to recover." She patted the stewardess' shoulder gently.

"I didn't mean to upset you," she whimpered, eyes sparkling with tears. "I just, I felt so down and everything just got on top of me and I don't know!" Imogen began to wail, tears streaming down her sallow face. Arthur's face crumpled and he perched on the edge of the bed, enveloping her in a hug.

"Don't cry Imogen. We aren't mad. We just want you to be okay!"

"You have us to take care of you when things get too much," Douglas added.

"And you always will." This from Martin.

Imogen looked around, saw the people she had come to call her family, and she beamed. As long as she had them, all would be well.


	12. Home Is Where The Heart Is

A.N. I know it's short, but I just wanted this cute little ending, to wrap it all up. This is the final chapter, and I'm really sad to be saying goodbye to Imogen and the rest of MJN! And I never thought I would say this, but I was really starting to ship her and Arthur! Perhaps I'll do a sequel. We'll see. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. This was the first CP fanfiction I've written, and the first fanfiction of any sort in a long while. Maybe I'll write some more. We shall see. Thank you all for your never ending support.

Imogen exited the cab, and leaned back in to pull out her small suitcase. She was stopped by Arthur, who took it from her with a boyish grin. Giggling, she followed him on-board GERT-I, watching the bustling around that Carolyn had excused her from. MJN had come together and everyone was furiously cleaning and dusting GERT-I. Arthur stowed away her bag and motioned for her to sit down.

"Arthur, I feel fine. I'll be able to steward today, honestly."

"Mum says you're to take it easy and she told me that I had to make sure you did. Maybe she'll let you work later!"

Imogen grumbled good naturedly, but settled herself into a chair. When the rest of the crew noticed that she was back, they downed tools and gathered round her.

"Good to have you back with us, Miss Topaz," came the mellifluous tones of the First Officer, and he bowed playfully.

"And back on board, too. GERT-I felt empty without you," added Martin, hugging her gently.

"All right you two, back to work. We're set to leave in two hours and GERT-I is nowhere near ready," ordered Carolyn fiercely, but she wore a smile. "They're right though. You're one of us now. Of course, that means putting up with Arthur and attempting to keep us in business, but I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"And you'll never break free from her grasp, even if you wanted to," piped Martin from further down, chuckling.

"Just because you keep trying to run away from my airline, Martin," Carolyn shot back good naturedly, shaking her head in laughter.

Imogen giggled, curling up on the seat and resting her head on her knees. The dark depression that had been hanging over her for years seemed to lift with the knowledge that for once, she truly belonged somewhere. For so long, she had been alone and hadn't belonged to anything or anyone. But now, she had found her calling. It may not pay well, but Imogen was happy. Her ragtag colleagues were her family, and that was all she had ever wanted.

"You should get some sleep, Imogen. There's nothing to do around here, and you look exhausted."

"I might just have a nap," she nodded, yawning as she tilted the chair back. The last thing she was aware of before she succumbed to slumber was a soft, warm blanket being wrapped around her. It smelled sweet, and she grinned as she drifted off to sleep, realising that it would probably be brightly coloured and have a childish pattern on it.

Imogen wasn't entirely sure what woke her, but it startled her, and she jumped out of her seat, smoothing down her uniform and adjusting her hair. Glancing at her watch, she swore softly. She was late. Carolyn may have told her to take the day, but she didn't want to. MJN meant as much to Imogen as it did to Carolyn, and she hurried down the steps, eyes lighting upon the yachters. They weren't aware of her hospital admission, and the trip did not have to be delayed in any way. Positioning herself at the bottom of GERT-I's steps, she grinned.

"Good afternoon Sir, and welcome on board today. If there is anything at all I can do for you, please let me know."

Climbing the steps again after a few minutes of greeting, she nodded to Carolyn. Everything was ready, and MJN were ready for their trip. They say that home is where the heart is, and home for Imogen was on board this tiny jet, amongst the ragtag bunch that was MJN. She was home, and all was well.


End file.
